Never too late
by Dowash
Summary: Would you reconsider? If I wasn't your Godson and we were just two guys somewhere out there, would you give it a chance then?"
1. Oil and Water

**A/N: **This story was partially inspired by _Three Days Grace_'s song called _Never too late_, thus the name ^^ I'd advice you to go and check out that song if you aren't already familiar with it, it's just pure amazing *grins*

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The main honors of creating these two characters goes to the pretty and rich lady living in England. I only own the plot of this fic and the OOCness that's bound to come with it *smirks*

**Warnings: **This will be slash. As in, I'm so going to write Harry and Sirius getting down and dirty at some point along the way. So if that isn't really your cup of tea, I'd advice you to hit the back-button right about now. No use flaming me afterwards, darlings, I gave you a fair warning ;)

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**1. Oil and water**

They didn't understand.

No, scratch that. There was no way they _could've_ understood. Locked up in their cozy little living rooms with hot cups of tea under their noses as they were, there wasn't a chance of them to understand. Or even want to.

But for someone who'd had to fight for anything and everything in his life and whose whole existence was a quarrel after the other, it was easy to understand. Understand but not accept. It was the highest taboo ever labeled under forbidden and that just made it all the more desirable.

I understood what the others didn't. Painfully well, even. For they didn't see how he looked at me, and at times I wished I would've been granted with such blind eyes as well. I understood, even better than I'd ever wanted to, what he was searching for. I wasn't sure if I was the right person to give him any of that.

So, I tried to stay out of his way. This is a large enough house to be able to do something like that pretty easily. But I couldn't escape him during mealtimes and those moments of socializing when we were both dragged by the collar to the living room so that we would feel like we were a part of a family neither of us ever asked for in the first place. I tried not to encourage him, to give him a cool front, but if there ever has been a person in this world who has seen through my numerous facades and false smiles without even trying, it is him.

Oh, how I sometimes wish it had never come to this. For he has found me out, painfully and inevitably ripped down any kind of a barrier I tried to build around myself, and he didn't even have to try. Just one single look from those eyes that by themselves are a reminder of why I should never be thinking these things and I am reduced to a babbling fool whose words make no sense, not to the world nor to me. Just one touch and I must flee, for my whole body burns and I am thinking of something I constantly catch myself picturing and even more frequently try to shove away.

He just needs to smile or laugh at one of my stupid jokes and this house suddenly seems like a paradise, a place I never wish to leave. All he needs to do is step into the room and look like he always does, maybe greet me with his smooth voice, and I catch myself thinking that it might not be so bad to be locked up in this house for good with a glass of Firewhiskey in my hands.

He doesn't like it when I drink, I can see it in his eyes. It is the only time something negative passes behind the shining depths when he looks at me. Usually, if I've been drinking, it's always on the landing in front of his room where we bump into each other when I'm dragging my sorry and miserable ass to my own room one floor above his. His eyes- a constant reminder of why exactly it's better to be drunk than to face my thoughts- narrow ever so slightly before his lips- that I always try not to stare and end up doing just that after fighting a yet another lost battle- purse, like he'd want to say something but isn't sure if he should. It is rare for him to speak during these fleeting occasions when it's just the two of us awake in the otherwise quiet house, and I am either so drunk or too caught up in my own line of thought to say anything either. Though, I have noticed that a fleeting touch of sadness has come to taint his mesmerizing eyes as he pats me on the shoulder before smiling that tiny smile and sweeping past me. I don't have to look to see where he is going, for I know he sleeps with that Ron-boy while in here. In this house that has its fun by switching from a paradise to a prison-cell faster I can ever quite catch up with, he sleeps practically under me. And I always try not to think of that in a more crooked kind of a way.

He goes his way and I go my own. And as I climb the last flight of stairs to my room, I can't stop thinking that I should go back and do something. But I squash that thought like I have always done up till now, for there is a part of my brain that keeps telling me that I have only imagined the looks and touches, lingering longer than necessary. That they are just an illusion my mind has come up with in order to justify my own dreams and hallucinations, to make me believe I am alright.

As I reach my own room I glance back and am greeted with the sight of an empty landing, getting engulfed by the shadows once more. I try not to think of it, but the more I stare the more I try to kid myself into believing that it is good like this. That we- as a Godfather and a Godson- are like oil and water. Two substances destined to never mingle. It is a lonely thought but I force myself to believe it once more as I step into my room and am greeted with even more darkness and shadows. It is like the walls and floor has somehow absorbed all that has been swirling inside my head ever since last summer when he first came here.

The thought of oil suits me because of it's color. Black is much like the color of my thoughts these days, instead of just my name. And water is along the lines of how I picture him, innocent and pure.

Oil would only tarnish it all.

So, I shall remain as an observer and will never act upon my urges.

Ever.


	2. Only me

**A/N:** So, the last chap was from Sirius' POV and this is from Harry's. Just to keep things clear *laugh*

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**2. Only me**

He doesn't understand.

He doesn't _want_ to understand, I'm sure of it.

He's seen how I look at him, I've made sure of that. And there's no doubt in my mind that he doesn't get it. He just doesn't want to, that coward. He's too concerned of what others think, of would they approve or not. In a way I understand it and commend him deep in my heart and other times I just wish he'd throw it all away, for others shouldn't matter at all.

It should be _me_ that matters to him the most. It should be only me he thinks of, only me who he wakes up for in the morning and gets through the day so that we can fall to the same bed and comfort each other in the face of yet another numerous hours of darkness and fright.

I should be the only one who he looks at with those shining and mischievous eyes, like he has a secret that he will share only with me. I want to be the only one at the receiving end of his bark-like laughter; I want to be the _cause_ of his happiness.

I'd wipe away his tears and make him forget why he was sad. I'd make him happy with everything I had.

He's had others, I'm sure of that. No-one that handsome and with that kind of a personality is never alone.

I'm jealous. So jealous I can sometimes barely stand it when I picture him in someone else's arms, kissing someone else, being in bed with someone else.

Sometimes I find myself thanking the God I never believed in that he was sentenced to Azkaban. I always try to berate myself afterwards, for that is a fate no-one should be given. But I always catch myself thinking about it a bit later. I find myself cursing and praising the One who doesn't exist that I can have him here with me like this. It would be impossible otherwise. He's too outgoing and likable to be left alone for long. If everything had gone perfectly he would've settled down with someone already, in a house that wasn't dark and repulsing.

But if everything had gone perfectly I would have my parents and my feelings for him would be even more complicated and uncalled-for.

But soon, he will belong only and exclusively to me. And I'll make sure that nothing will tear us apart.

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**A/N:** I'll leave it at this for a while. I'd like to know your opinions *hint hint* =P


	3. Those eyes

**A.N:** Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad to see you've liked this.

It's Sirius' ponderings in the foreground again ;)

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**3.** **Those eyes**

He's looking at me.

I can feel it, the burn of his eyes boring to my back, even from half across the room. It doesn't even surprise me anymore to realize no-one else can see it.

Sometimes I wonder if we've been trapped in some sort of a limbo state with no way out, for it feels like this Christmas has been stretching on and on for all eternity already. And yet, I still remember the night they first arrived like it was yesterday.

At that time, I tried so hard not to stare at his body- barely covered with something they like to call pajamas- that I nearly missed the reason why they even had arrived. And later on, when everything had turned out to be all well again and he pulled me into the closet… I had no idea how to react.

I remember that he was worried, he was telling me about something rather important, but all I can recall from that small conversation held between the eggnog and mulled wine was the way his eyes shone and his lips moved. I could feel my whole body burning up from just looking at him. And I tried so hard not to reach out and nail him against the wall right there and then, despite all the people and noise emitting from right next to us, that I hardly listened to what he was saying. And somewhere deep in my mind that wasn't already putting more speed to the black wheels some might call an imagination, I had enough decency to be ashamed of myself. I knew why he'd pulled me to the side and I most definitely knew what he wanted, at that time. What he needed, back then, was an adult's clear and objective answer to calm down his own heart. Not some drooling, lewd older man who was thinking thoughts one should never shed daylight upon.

He talked for a while, back then, without stopping or paying attention to if I was listening or not. It was clear that he had to get it all off from his consciousness and the part of my brains that wasn't thinking something extremely dirty at the moment felt a bit honored, for he had come to _me_. Then it occurred to me he would also want an answer. Something calming and soothing and I was supposed to come up with it when he was standing so close to me with his slightly ajar lips.

While I pondered over what exactly I should say, I saw the slight shift in his eyes. And all of a sudden it felt like he was even closer, nearly pressing me against the side of the closet with a single glance from the burning green fire.

"Sirius? Did you listen to what I just said?" he asked, nearly purring out the words and craning his neck like a cat asking to be caressed. One fine eyebrow arched when I couldn't come up with an answer quickly enough and this time the youth actually took a step closer, his eyes too intense to look at even in the dim light. "Sirius?"

I doubt my name has ever sounded more innocent and lewd at the same time as when he let out that single word, his gaze nailing me to where I stood. I could feel my heart thudding nearly painfully in my chest and my fist clenched surreptitiously, but not invisibly enough. In the darkness of the small closet he saw how tense my whole frame had become and I would be lying if I said he didn't look happy.

I croaked out the immediate answer before putting up some advice I hoped sounded at least somehow parental before fleeing the cramped space and the kitchen altogether, going straight to my room.

It was then, after that small discussion, that he started to look at me the way he always does these days.

It burns and scorches me, every time our gazes meet or I catch him staring at me from half across the room. And every single time I get the feeling as if he's undressing me with his eyes, imagining what I look like under the black hoodies and worn-out jeans. I might've felt uncomfortable if I hadn't caught myself doing the exact same thing so many times- so many, condemnable times- before.

It's no better if there are other people around; they just seem to be a small brake to him. He doesn't mind looking at me and licking his lips in a room full of other people, engrossed in their meaningless chitchat. He doesn't care I talk with someone; I stand next to someone as does he, across the room from me. He's careful to keep his distance but it wouldn't make any difference if he was standing right next to me. He had me captivated from the moment they arrived. And other people seem to just be a hindrance he holds no interest in.

He doesn't even have to say anything. It's enough when he brushes past me in the kitchen and comes too close, so very too close with that innocent look in his eyes that everyone else is buying. I'm not, because he lets me see through it, he lets me see straight inside his mind and I don't like what I see in there. I'm not _supposed_ to like what I see in there.

Those eyes haunt me even in my bedroom. I can see them glowing in the darkness of the shadows, coiled up in a corner. But it's just an illusion of mine, there's nothing really there and there should never _be_ anything there. Those green eyes that I don't want to look at because of what I'll inescapably see there, looking at me unblinkingly inside my head. Staring, staring at my pathetic form as I lie on the bed and dream of dreams that I should never be having and should be ashamed of with good reason. Every night I dream of things I wish I could erase from my mind, and at the same time I don't want to ever forget because the realm of unreal fantasies is the only place I can have him without any consequences. It's the only place I can allow myself to think of all the things he clearly wishes for without the looks of dread and disgust I would receive from the 'decent' and 'moral' judges of mine if I truly acted upon my desires.

He will destroy me with those eyes. Inevitably.

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I see it's raining outside... A few reviews might coax the sun to come out and give energy to my muse...


	4. That stupid dog

**A.N:** Here I am again, dragging to you the inner thoughts of our lovable Golden Boy!

Thank you for the reviews, everyone *grins* It's a sunny weather now ^^

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**4. That stupid dog. **

He's a frigging imbecile, I'll give him that.

Sometimes I wonder if his head is made of stone. No-one can be that slow on purpose. But then again, some other time, I'm one hundred percent sure he knows what I think.

I try to let him know what I think.

I saw him with Remus the other day. Hell, it was just a few minutes ago, no use hiding it. Supposedly it was a conversation meant for just the two of them but I can do little about it when they're speaking with normal voices and with the frigging door open.

I wasn't interested in the content of that conversation. What interested and irked me was the _way_ they talked.

That wolfy was too close to my Siri. I wanted to curse him into oblivion, damn him, he shouldn't be touching _my_ man. It burned somewhere deep inside me when I saw the two of them sitting on the couch, talking oh so friendly and closely. It made me feel sick when I saw Remus' arm around my Siri's shoulders. It hurt when that stupid, thick dog leaned in and nearly buried his face into that traitorous wolf's neck.

I wasn't interested in their conversation. And I did _not_ want to be interested in the burning and clawing jealousy eating away on my insides.

I had to leave. Escape into the darkness but never loneliness of my room that I had to be sharing with Ron. The bed was hard when I slumped on it and hid my face into the pillow but I'd gotten used to something as petty as that already. I'd slept worse.

I think _they_ all think I'm avoiding them. Because of the attack I witnessed, they must think I'm somehow shocked or distraught and so they leave me alone. It suits me. I couldn't give a shit about the other people in this house for as long as Sirius will be mine and Remus will fuck off into somewhere where the sun doesn't shine.

I can't sleep anymore.

I keep dreaming of things I want to happen in real life so badly it's wringing my chest shut whenever I so much as _glance_ at the stupid dog. But he 'doesn't understand'. 'Understand' my ass, he knows exactly what's going on, he wasn't a fucking Marauder for nothing.

It's the age and Godfather thing, I'm pretty sure of that. And when I get my hands on him I'm going to tie him up for as long as it takes for him to _understand_ that that shit means _nothing_ to me.

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**A.N:** *wipes off drool*

Possessive Harry here we come!

With a few reviews, maybe?


	5. Sinning

**A/N: ***hides behind her computer*Nooo!! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I _know _it took me a while to update! No, not rotten tomatoes, pleeeaaaseee!!! *runs off*

Ahem. Yeah, I'm sorry it took me a while but at least this is a long chapter! (At least of Never too late standards *chuckle*) Thank you, all of you wonderful people who have either reviewed, faved, alerted etc. this story! It warms my tiny heart to know you're liking this ;)

And here you go *bows*

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**5. Sinning**

Drinking again. It seems like that is the best way for me to spend the nights these days. My dreams've turned into nightmares by now, startling me awake in the middle of the darkness. I can feel sweat gliding down my body and gluing my shirt to my skin as I gasp for air, staring at the ceiling. It's better if I call them nightmares- what I see during the unconsciousness, that is. It's better to label them as something bad and repulsing instead of hot and steamy and anything _but_ a bad dream.

So, I drink. And when I drink and then maybe fall asleep, I won't be having dreams I'm yearning to see. But I did switch locations, the kitchen got boring already so my new victim is the livingroom. And there I sit and watch as the hours of the night tick by, the oppressive darkness pressing against the windows slowly but inevitably retreating as the morning arrives. There's something beautiful about witnessing how the sun rises and paints the room with its redness, but I rarely get to see it because eventually the sleep will always win over me and I will wake up somewhere around noon, curled up on the sofa with aching muscles.

Then, one evening, he just had to come and disturb me. I'd tried to avoid everyone that day, because I'd gotten up at the wrong foot as badly as possible that morning. Hearing my mother scream at me first thing afterwards because Tonks had fallen over her feet again did nothing to cheer up my mood, either.

I can hear the door opening with a soft click and as I look out of the window, his reflection is getting painted in the cold surface of it as he walks towards me. I see how he halts a few feet from me, the gnaw he makes at his lower lip nearly visible in this twisted mirror I have. Taking a long swig from the bottle in my hand, I try to ignore him. Maybe he would just go away like that and leave me alone with the burn in my stomach.

"Hi," he says finally, and I could have cried out my frustration. Just hearing his voice has my insides curing again and that's the last thing I'm wishing for at the moment. I stare out, stubbornly pretending he's thin air as the clock somewhere in the room slowly announces that it's nine o'clock.

The silence between us crawls on and I can feel his expectant eyes on me, boring into my back once again. I have a pretty good guess how he looks like right about now. Head tilted to the side, a small frown on his face, hands in his pockets as he tries to keep the annoyed look away from his eyes. I turn around and see exactly what I thought. Something that is verging on twisted triumph dances through my mind before I turn back towards the window.

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice already thicker than usual but I want to blame the alcohol for it, instead of the emotions he's forcing me to feel once again.

"To talk," he replies, and takes a step closer. And then another, I watch him from my mirror before his warmth passes me and he is leaning his side to the window, his arms crossed as he looks at me. His eyes fall to the bottle I'm holding and he bites on his lower lip lightly, as if he was going through an internal battle inside his mind. I keep my eyes directed at the darkness because I know how irresistible he can look like.

"Then talk," I say, and I know how harsh it sounds like but I'm not interested in being polite today.

Another small silence follows and then Harry inhales lightly- and I try not to think how obscene something so little can sound like- before swallowing and finally speaking.

"You shouldn't drink," he says, and I chuckle wryly as I lift the bottle to my lips.

"Watch me," I mutter before swallowing some of the amber liquid. I blink, because suddenly it feels like he's even closer than before, pressing against my side with his lean body as he looks up to me. I glance down to him but he's still where he was mere seconds ago, only looking at me with a light frown.

"Then gimme some of that as well," Harry says suddenly, surprising me. I blink again, only this time to get some time to think over my reply. But he decides for me and takes the bottle from my hand, his head tilting back as he drinks. And drinks, until the alcohol is all gone and he heaves in a heavy breath as he gives the bottle back to me. His eyes are gleaming as he licks his lips and I realize too late that that had been his target all along. He smiles at me innocently as I take the offered piece of glass and nearly drop it as our fingers touch, something wicked passing his eyes.

"Molly's gonna kill me," I murmur, just saying it because I need something to break the silence with as I turn to toss the bottle to the couch. And when I turn back, Harry really is closer this time, his shirt brushing past mine as he chuckles.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks, his own voice a bit richer than usual as he stares up to me. I find my head nodding forth in agreement before I can stop it and he smiles widely, the whole room lighting up right under my eyes. He holds a small, artistic pause and then his whole look changes, his eyes grave as he looks at me dead in the eye. "Would you reconsider?" he asks, and my heart thuds painfully in my chest at his solemn voice. "If I wasn't your Godson and we were just two guys somewhere out there, would you give it a chance then?"

"I don't-" I try.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," he cuts through, that sweet smile still on his face as he grabs my upper arm like I was going to jump through the window if he didn't stop me. And I can do naught but stare at him, because this kind of bluntness is something I had never even considered to be possible. I feel a frown falling to my face as his words roll around in my head, but I try to block them out.

"You don't mean that," I say, for my own sake, and his hold on me tightens at once.

"I do," he says with emphasis, his eyes burning mine.

"I'm not what you're seeking for," I say, and I know that is the truth. He is seeking comfort, and I cannot give him that. Safety, warmth, anything positive, I can't offer him any of that. Not with my set of mind.

"You don't know what I seek," he argues, his fingers digging into my upper arm. My frown deepens as I try to turn away but he yanks me back, his lips twisted down.

"Whatever it is, you still won't find it in me," I say, a bit louder than intended as I try to pry his hold off me. "Don't entertain false impressions about someone, Harry."

"You're the one entertaining false impressions here," he shots back, his brilliant eyes flashing. "I never asked you to be anything else than you are, Sirius."

I manage to free myself and walk away, slumping down to the sofa as I rub my temples. It angers me to hear something like that from his lips because I know it's a lie in the end.

A pair of legs appears in my line of vision and then Harry is kneeling before me, grabbing my hands. I close my eyes and turn my head away because I don't want to see him like that, in a position I have imagined too much. My hands jolt ever so slightly as he lowers them to my lap and grabs my head, forcing me to look at him.

"You're perfect the way you are," Harry says, a small smile on his face as he looks up to me. His fingers burn my skin and I want to rip them off, but at the same time I want to lift my own hands against his to press that touch even deeper into my hair. It should aggravate me that he is saying such things, not the least because I was supposed to be cranky and drunk, but all that manages to get into my mind is some sort of relieved happiness because he is saying something like that.

But then I shove it off, as I shove his hands away. "Don't touch me," I say, and I wonder if he hears the desperate plea in there or not. "You don't want me," I continue.

"You don't know what I want," he says, leaning to my knees. His warmth against me is more scorching than the blazing heat roaring in the fireplace and I try my best to resist.

"I don't want to know," I say, looking away again and trying to get back on the sofa only to realize I'm already leaning against the backrest. He has me trapped.

Harry sighs lightly, and then he is pushing my legs apart and slipping between them. My breathing jams in my throat as he slides against me and my eyes widen as I look down to him, desperately trying to keep a cool head from the dizzying sensation that is trying to engulf me as I see him down there like that.

"Why?" he asks, and his voice is slightly bitter as he leans to my thighs. "Because I'm younger than you?" He snorts mockingly. "Because you're my _godfather_?" The word slips from his lips as if it is poisoned, a frown on his face.

"Isn't that enough?" I ask, leaning forth to push him away. But he doesn't budge, his hands curling around my hoodies to keep him in place.

"How could it ever be enough?" he asks, his frown deepening. "I don't care."

I understand he doesn't, but he is still too young. And as I look at him I think of all the things that could go wrong, all the things that could make him hate me. It hurts, to think something like that. I try to push him away again. "How do you even know if I'm gay or not?" I ask, desperately trying to come up with solid protests that would make him realize we shouldn't be doing this, _any_ of this. "How do you know if _you're_ gay or not?"

"Remus told me you're bi," he says with some sort of triumph lacing his tone. "And I've known for a long while now that I'm not into girls."

I try to get angry at him, at his pushiness, but I know it's a lost battle before I even start. I'm too tired in general to argue with him whole-heartedly. But still I desperately fight to get that spike of annoyance into my system, to find the strength I'm lacking as Harry suddenly lifts his head. My mind screams at me as he comes closer and closer, until I could count his eyelashes, and still closer. When our lips meet it's some sort of dizzying heat that courses through me and makes me jolt.

He sighs softly into the kiss and then his fingers are in my hair, deep in the nape of my neck as he pulls me closer. My hands move on their own as one finds its way to his neck and the other to his slim waist, a croon vibrating against my mouth as he presses closer. He melts between my legs and against my body. And suddenly it aggravates me, the spike I don't wish for anymore hitting through me and vanquishing my pleasure as it clears my head.

It feels like he would do anything, allow me to have my way with him no matter what I would request, and it makes me feel sick in my stomach. As his arms wrap around my neck it feels like he is binding me down, making me his just because he wants to experiment what it feels like to be with another man.

My anger flares up and as I try to push him away the door opens at the same time, letting in Ron and Hermione. Their eyes widen as they realize what is going on and it aggravates me even further, a frown falling to my face. Harry is forced to pull back as his friends gasp and he looks to their direction, his hold on me loosening. And I rip his arm away from my neck and stand up, not even looking at him as I turn towards the door. His touch is still burning my skin as I walk past the pair who can't decide which one to look. The taste of him on my lips suddenly feels poisoned and as I reach the stairs I wipe my mouth, the frown deepening as I curse myself into the deepest circles of hell and go to the front door.

I need to get out, somewhere where his torrid heat won't reach me. I curse Harry under my breath as I slam the door shut and walk out into the night, curse him because he has made me feel this way.

I decide I need to find a bar and maybe even someone I can hook up with, my wand flashing through the air as I change my appearance and Apparate away.

I need to rub his touch off me and with the aid of some stranger that shouldn't be too hard of a task.

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**A/N:** Well? I'm sure your fingers are itching to comment on how mean I am or something *laughs wickedly* Press that nice button to lemme know your thoughts :)


	6. No remorse

**A.N:** I know, it's been a while -.-' But my muse decided to take a very long holiday, and I can honestly say I haven't written anything for about a month or so D: But! Think about it positively! I'm posting two chapter so this shorty here won't be the only one!

Though honestly, this's the shortest chapter ever, but unfortunately Harry didn't have anything else to say this time... To make it up, the next chapter is the longest in 'Never too late' history! Applauds to my muse...

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**6. No remorse  
**

I nearly got him. But only nearly, thanks to my friends.

At the time, I felt like wanting to curse them.

I still want to curse them, but I know they didn't do it on purpose.

Maybe.

And he'll return.

He can't keep on running away from me for all eternity.

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**A.N:** Hang in there, the next chapter is a lot longer than this one :) Actually, I feel slightly silly for posting something this short but it was necessary *sigh*

To the next one we go, whooo!!!


	7. Fall

**A.N:** Here we are again, whoo! And with a lot longer chapter as well! I hope you enjoy it *bows*

Oh, by the way. I think I should warn you that I wrote this about three minutes ago. So I apologize for the spelling errors and such, if there are any -.-'

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**7. Fall**

The livingroom again. Maybe I'm cursing myself with it. Or maybe I'm just secretly hoping that Harry would walk in through that door when in truth I don't even want him to.

During the past few days, I haven't seen him much. It surprised me, but after a while I realized it was better that way. But still, every time I find myself starting to feel relieved because of it, there's this little sting echoing through my body, like I was getting stabbed, like there was something wrong with being ignored.

Such thoughts aggravate me, and it gives me another reason to practice excessive drinking. But most of all I want the memory of us kissing out of my head. _But_ then again, if I really wanted to get rid of it, I would find another room to drink in than this.

I don't know what I want anymore, and it aggravates me and makes my hand move faster as I sip on the alcohol that's swirling clear in the bottle. The scenery in the backyard of this godforsaken place is as mood-lifting as ever as I stare over the patches of muddy grass and the few flowers still hanging in there at the corners of the despicable flower-bed. I frown as I take a yet another swig from the numbing miracle, grimacing as I swallow and the liquid attacks my throat ruthlessly before pouring down to my stomach and lighting it on fire.

I lean my head to the window-frame and lightly before suddenly cursing the watery picture painted before me. It should be Christmas by now, and everyone else in the house was busy with preparations and clean ups because of it. Thinking about it, maybe that was why I hadn't seen Harry in while. Molly had been using every living being in this house as her minion the second she came back here, and the only reason why I managed to escape was that I owned the house and wanted nothing to do with it.

Oh, the joy.

I can feel the feeble smile twisting my lips up before the bottle rises to them and I swallow some of the liquid again, erasing such a look from my face as I grimace again.

Along with the grimace come memories about this room, and my stomach turns revoltingly just like every other time I think about it. I try to avoid it, but then again I'm not sure if I'm really trying that hard. It's fucked up and makes me want to laugh at how despicable I've become.

I try not to think about what I did after so gutlessly fleeing from this house.

I don't want to remember how ridiculously easy it was to find someone.

I don't want to feel the shock of realization, as fresh as it had been back then when I had realized that the guy I hooked up with had had black hair and fair eyes, and had been shorter than me those crucial, nearly eight inches.

I didn't want to realize I'd subconsciously scored a bloke who looked like Harry probably would in a few years.

I let my head thud against the window as I take another swig and nearly beg for the buzz and oblivion to come, desperate to feel the ecstasy of being drunk. My mood follows the weather as usual, and goes even downer like a hippogriff's tail as I hear the first drops of water hitting on the other side of the glass. The few scouts declare the road to be clear and then their accomplices start to fall down heavily, drumming against the window and the roof-tiles somewhere high above rhythmically as the backyard before me quickly wraps itself into a grey curtain. I scowl, a spike of uncalled annoyance flooding into my veins once again, and then the door opens.

I don't need to turn around to know who it is that has invaded my nest of depression. The click the door makes as it closes gives enough hints; the soft and nearly ginger footsteps which follow something I would recognize anywhere.

To my surprise he doesn't come to where I am but halts before the fire and sits down, the suspension in the ancient piece of furniture screeching out its protest faintly before he settles in.

He's the first to break the silence.

"Hi," Harry calls out softly, sounding normal but at the same time afraid, as if he talked too loudly the treacherous tranquility looming around us would shatter.

"Sup," I mutter to my bottle, my eyes fixated on the rainy scenery so that I won't get the temptation to turn around.

"Sup, indeed," he chuckles, and I hear him lying down on the sofa. Something slithers into the pit of my stomach and make it squirm like little snakes, and I know it's not because of the alcohol. The whole length of my back tingles and it makes my fingers twitch, the aggravation that's welling inside me reminding me of its presence again as a flash of blue light suddenly lights up the scenery and thunder rolls over the house. I nearly raise an eyebrow at this, because as far as I know thunderstorms don't come with the whole winter-package.

Then the tingle intensifies and the back of my neck feels hot, as if someone was staring at me intensely. I don't have to make many guesses about who it is and as I turn around just a fraction I see what I thought I would, piercing greenness staring at me from the couch. I realize a second too late that it would have been better for me if I hadn't looked, for the position Harry's in is far from innocent. And I can see from the slight grin on his face that it's no accident at all, either.

"What d'you want?" I ask as I rip my eyes away and turn back towards the window, my hold on the bottle tightening as I seek for support I know I won't find. I take a swig and hope it would take the aggravation away with it.

"Not much," Harry said, innocently enough as he moves on the couch and it screeches again. "I just wanted a place where I could escape all the hassle for a while, that's all."

I stay silent and take a sip from the bottle again, not bothering to point out that this is in no way the only room in the house. It's none of my business- or my problem- if the kid's here. I promised myself I wouldn't let anything happen between us ever again.

A small silence descends between us and I wonder if he's making it oppressive willingly. Right after I scold myself, for I know it's impossible to make a silence to be anything. But as I take a yet another swig from my nearly empty bottle, I can't shun out the little voice that's asking me what's so hard about it.

Suddenly I can feel a headache coming, reminding me once again why I hated the thunder. The low pressure area always managed to get to me, no matter if it was with a slight delay or not. And along with it, came an excruciating headache that drilled on my temples for hours. Added with alcohol and aggravation equaled to a shitty night, which was probably why I was scowling and squeezing the bottle in my hand. Not because Harry had said something again.

"Sirius?" he calls out, his voice cutting through my head like a scythe and making me squeeze my eyes shut, the bridge of my nose getting into the tight hold of my thumb and index finger.

"What?" I nearly snarl, tossing back the rest of the alcohol before turning around. My eyes flit over him and I try not to stare at the fraction of skin I can see, because I know everything about him is organized to the last bit.

"Wanna sit down for a sec?" he asks, his hand rising to brush a wayward strand of inky blackness from his face. Somehow he manages to lift the hem of his shirt even higher up his side with that movement, and as he turns slightly I can see the shadow his hipbone casts on his skin, my fingers twitching again as my headache worsens. I know I shouldn't be doing it but just for that second his played innocence works on me and my legs move without my consent, carrying me to an armchair near the other end of the sofa. I slump down and let the bottle slip to the floor from my fingers before they rise to my temples and I stare into the raging fire, trying to forget who I'm sharing the room with.

"Do you have a headache?" he asks, his voice laced with tender worry that only aggravates me. Suddenly I wish I had more booze in the room but the bottle at my feet is the last one, and if I wanted more that would mean I'd have to go downstairs and into the kitchen. The thought of summoning it up here doesn't even cross my mind because I know I'm already too drunk to do it properly.

I don't answer to him, because I'm not entirely sure what would come out of my mouth if I tried. So, I continue to stare at the fire and somehow manage to ignore the sound of the sofa screeching again before soft footsteps suddenly echo in the room. I blink and then he's before me on the floor, gently taking my hand from my temple and replacing it with his own, the other sliding into my hair on the other side of my head.

"What're you doing?" I ask, the scowl I haven't even realized to be scrunching up my face deepening.

"Rubbing your temple," he answers simply, the grin about in his eyes again as he stares up to me. The fire reflects from his glasses and makes his eyes behind them sparkle, half of his face getting illuminated with the flickering orange light. His fingers dig into the side of my head as he massages my skin softly and I try so hard not to think about how good it feels that for a small moment, my aggravation disappears.

A smile jumps to his face as my scowl slowly melts away as seconds tick by, a wood cracking in the fireplace. He moves his hand and then both of his thumbs are on my temples, rubbing gently. His warmth slowly works its way into me and suddenly I catch myself thinking that this isn't so bad, because the feeling of his fingers rubbing my head is actually managing to diminish the raging ache a notch or two.

Then he moves a bit closer and straightens ever so slightly, his loose shirt hanging from his shoulders and giving me a clear view of something I'm not sure I should be looking at. He doesn't even seem to notice as he continues to massage my temples.

I look at him and before I even know it my eyes are tracing the line of his neck before falling down to his shoulders and the fraction of a collarbone that's visible from the darkness inside his shirt. His jaw is casting a deep shadow on his skin and I can feel my fingers already moving to trace it before I blink and manage to drag my eyes away with great effort, my stomach twisting again. Suddenly I recall what happened the last time we were in similar positions and I glance at Harry, surprised to see him a lot closer than before. There's a smirk on his face as his hands halt and he tilts his head, a strand of my hair getting twirled in his fingers as he blows a wisp of inky blackness from his forehead. Helplessly, I catch myself watching how his lips move, first pursing and then relaxing again.

"You can touch me if you want," he suddenly says, his voice quiet, the smirk turning into a lopsided grin as I just sit there like petrified. His hand falls from my hair and I'm angry at myself when I realize I want it back there. He grabs my wrist and it startles me, my eyes fixated on my fingers as he slowly drags my hand up and finally against the side of his neck. His head tilts to the side again as my fingers automatically curl around the warmth, the grin on his face widening. My thumb sweeps past his jaw and his mouth drops open, his eyes gleaming behind the sparkling glasses as steals my breath with a single glance.

He straightens even more, so that he's nearly leaning against my chest, his warmth radiating to me as his hold on my hand tightens. The thunder claps and awakens me from my trance, making me realize what's going on and dropping a scowl to my face again. With a silent curse I nearly spring up and round him, nearly knocking him over.

"What're you afraid of?" Harry asks and his tone makes me halt, my fist clenching. I brush my hair out of my face and am surprised to see my hand shaking slightly, my heart exploding into reluctant action as I hear him stand up. I glance back at him and the headache returns, worse than ever as we look at each other.

I don't know what to say to that so I just turn and exit the room, completely aware that I'm running away as I hold onto my temple and hurriedly make my way to the highest floor. My head reels like I was pissed drunk as I stumble to the landing and drag myself towards my room, nearly kicking the door open before slamming it shut again with a satisfying bang. I lean against the wood briefly and bang my head against it with a groan before pushing myself off again and tearing my shirt away, folding it into a messy lump before tossing it away into the darkness. I stagger to my bed and slump down while trying to swallow down my heart, desperate to get rid of the warmth still clinging onto my legs as I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers again.

I'm granted with a few second's pardon before the door opens, surprising me so completely I forget to snap at the one entering. From the corner of my eye, I can see Harry walking inside with steps that are arranged to look confident as he turns to lock us inside. He faces me again and leans against the door, something complicated racing through me as I see him standing there so bluntly.

I go with my best tactic so far and ignore him.

He just stands still quietly for a minute or two, the floorboards creaking under his feet as he shifts his weight restlessly. I realize that _he _must have realized he's off limits by now, and even though that should probably make me feel better it doesn't. He knows he shouldn't be in my room, not the least because he has no business here. And as his clothes rustle and he nearly squirms against his support it somehow pleases me to see this sudden uneasiness he's giving away instead of the stubborn headstrongness which's usually his trademark. I'm already starting to think about how good it would be if he just gave up and went away when he seems to steel himself and takes that step forth, then another. In a few seconds he's standing beside my bed and then he sits down gingerly, nearly twisting his hands.

"Who said you could come in?" I ask as I turn my back to him and try to convince my head to stay intact. The rain strengthens its efforts again and drums to the roof right above us, the wet sound slithering to the pit of my stomach to accompany the annoyance and the other thing I'm not willing to admit to be residing in there.

He stays quiet for a long while, nothing but the sound of rain audible before he shifts on the bed. "I did," he says quietly and makes me jolt as a hand slides over my bare side. The touch is tentative and nearly shy, the usual defiance that's usually marking everything he does missing as he runs his fingers over my skin. For the first time, he seems to be a bit unsure of himself and I'm glad about it as I ignore his attempt to bring us closer. .

"That's called breaking and entering," I mutter to the other side of the room as I shove his hand away, feeling the jerk the mattress makes behind me as Harry twitches.

"You're the one running away," he says a bit too loudly, like being aggressive enough would make us both forget why he was really here.

"I'm not running away from anything," I declare wile trying to ignore the jeering voice at the back of my head which was asking if that was really the case.

"Really?" he asks, sounding unnervingly much like the mocking voice in my mind. It aggravates me even though I know it shouldn't, and knowing I shouldn't get aggravated only aggravates me even further. This was getting too fucked up for me to like it.

"What the fuck d'you want?" I ask angrily as I sit up and turn away, reaching for a shirt on the mattress and pulling it over my head.

"You," he says, simply and honestly, a frown falling to his face as I snort.

"I already told you, go find someone else," I say sternly, my aggravation only growing when I feel his gaze on me.

"I don't want anyone else," he protests silently, and I wonder if he hears the nearly childish stubbornness in his voice like I do.

"Well, tough," I state as I slip from the bed and go to the window, leaning to the frame lightly as I stare out to the rainy scenery and try to keep my head clear. A silence falls between us heavily and I close my eyes against it, my fists nearly clenching as I suddenly feel his presence too much. My spine tingles again and I try to resist the familiar somersault my stomach makes as I hear the bed creaking, warmth surging over my body unbidden.

The bed creaks once again and then I hear a muffled inhale, a frown falling to my face as I turn to look at Harry. My heart thuds against my chest before wringing itself into a knot when I see the pained look on his face, his upper body hunched forth slightly. And as I look he swallows harshly and then frowns, shooting me a look that's somewhere between agonized and angry.

"Why don't you want me?" he asks, his voice thicker than usual as his fingers grasp his denim-covered thigh. "Is it because of this?" he continues, his hand making a vague gesture that could be pointed at either his face or his entire body and neither of them at the same time. "I know I-"

"It's not about that," I ground out, wanting him to shut up so that I wouldn't have to hear him speak with a tone like that. My insides curl and I try to stop myself from thinking how vulnerable he looks like when he sits there, a pained frown on his face and eyes shimmering with near desperation.

"Then what is it?" he asks, shooting up from the bed and nearly flying to stand before me so that he's nailing me against the window with his body and hasty words. "Why won't you touch me, Sirius? Why? I know you want me!"

I'm nearly feeling sympathetic because of his words but then his last declaration makes the anger explode inside me again, making me scowl. And maybe he sees his mistake or is just embarrassed by his sudden outburst because he blushes and gnaws on his lower lip again, his hands lowering from where his emotional outgush had lifted them to between our chests.

"You don't know what I want," I say slowly, the squirming on my insides escalating to my chest and shooting up to my head so that it starts to reel as I look down to him.

"But you kissed me!" he argues loudly, his shoulders tensing up slightly.

"No, _you _kissed _me_!" I argue back, and the childishness of our debate only manages to aggravate me further and call the hum from the back of my head. "It's always been you, you, you, Harry! You just shoved your feelings on me without paying any heed to how _I_ felt!"

"I see how you look at me," he nearly hisses, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"You imagine things," I say as coldly as I can to fight against the heat that's spreading through my veins, making my fingers tingle and twitch against my palms.

"Oh, really?" he retorts, gnawing at his lip again.

"Yes," I say with emphasis, my fists clenching. "Now get out."

"Why?" he defies.

"Because I said so," I snap, trying to filter what I'm seeing before me so that I wouldn't have to fully realize what I'm thinking about it. For surely, I should have never made him angry, because he just looks all the more desirable like that, and the hot madness inside my mind was starting to bend and twist at my moral restraints. I know I need to get him out before something irrevocable happens.

"I'm not going anywhere until you admit you want me!" he says, and I just have to wonder where all his decisiveness is coming from. The whole teen is nearly the embodiment of stubbornness as he stands there before me, head tilted back in defiance and eyes storming with more intensity than the real thunder outside. And then I just feel like laughing, because this whole situation is too absurd and my hold on it is starting to slip badly.

So I run away again, turning and sweeping past him. He doesn't understand why I'm trying to get away and grabs my wrist, restraining me and forcing me to halt. His hold isn't that strong but it's enough, burning my skin and shooting another spike of madness into my already unstable mind. But I know I can resist it, I _have_ to resist it for my own sake. That is what I keep telling myself as I hear him taking that one step which is keeping us apart, his intoxicating heat pressing against my side too soon.

"Tell me you don't want me," he says quietly, and in some mocking attempt for added drama the thunder claps again, reminding me of insane laughter as I keep quiet and try to endure the burn his closeness is causing to spread through me again. "Tell me you don't want me and I'll leave you alone."

I can hear the pain I don't want to hear under his so coolly and confidently arranged voice, making me realize he's scared to death for my answer. It aggravates me, because I know it shouldn't be like this. It should have never come to this, because this would end badly one way or the other. I try to tell myself I should just keep quiet but the sweet insanity and alcohol is loosening my tongue, and I realize too late I pulled my own doom upon me.

"Just go away," I ground out, and hope he interprets the thickness which is audible in my voice as anger instead of barely concealed and lidded feelings. I also hope he would take the hint and leave while he still could but when his hold on my wrist tightens, I don't know if I should groan or laugh.

"Not until you answer me," he says, his voice too demanding. And the madness inside my head snaps. Not entirely, but enough. Before I even know it my hand is around _his_ wrist instead and he's flying through the air, landing on the mattress at our side with a soft thump and a single surprised grunt.

"What d'you want from me?" I ask loudly, my voice a desperate growl, and I understand I'm hovering over his body when he tries to raise his hands and I pin them against the bed, his bones feeling thin and fragile in my hold. His only answer is a shivery inhale as he wriggles under me, his mouth falling open as he shifts and his legs sweep past mine. It's just little friction, but it makes me see red, my anger getting all the justification it seems to be needing as he wriggles again.

"Sirius…" he gasps, jolting as I frown and release his wrist to slide a hand under his shirt. The softness of his skin gets overridden by my anger as I watch him arch up to my touch with a surprised croon, his reaction making the madness inside my head twist and bend down the last restraint I had.

My fingers drag up his chest harshly, leaving red trails behind as he wriggles again. His free hand rises again before I shove it back against the mattress, a low growl emitting from my throat. "Isn't this what you wanted?" I ask, somewhere at the back of my mind feeling shocked at how cold and mean my voice is. My palm runs over his chest and stomach again but it's anything but tender, making him wriggle and whimper lightly. "Didn't you ask for this?" I ask as my hand falls down and cups his groin harshly, making him gasp as he wriggles again.

"Sirius," he nearly moans, his legs kicking against the mattress weakly as I rub him too strongly, causing more pain than pleasure. "S-stop, that hurts…"

"So?" my anger asks, using my voice and mouth and lips to produce the words, no tenderness or warmth in there, only something verging on sadism and desire to hurt. Because I know he needs to understand, he needs to realize I would do nothing but destroy him in the end.

So I ignore his faint pleas, shoving his free hand back down every time it rises up to brush against me, not feeling anything but dulling anger as I rip his jeans open and do what he wanted me to do but doesn't want anymore. I know I'm nearly breaking his wrist with my excruciating hold but my anger saves me from caring, only allowing me to see his face as it scrunches up more and more, redness spreading to his cheeks and getting brighter with every vicious twirl and tug I make with my hand. I can't remember when he stopped resisting and his hand curled around my shirt over my shoulder instead, nor when he started to croon and whimper but as quietly as he could as he wriggled in my hold, his legs hooking itself behind my knee and binding me down, pulling me even closer.

He's still trying to get away and I think he deserves it. He pants and fists my shirt and tries to push me away weakly before falling back down and moaning weakly. His legs jerk against mine before kicking against the mattress, his body arching from the bed as I move my hand viciously.

And then he's gasping, climaxing all over his stomach and chest and my hand, his head digging back against the mattress as a muffled whimper slips past his lips no matter how hard he tries to restrain it. I can see tears in his eyes, and I think he deserves it. He deserves it all, because he needs to understand.

I watch him pant as I ruthlessly continue to move my hand, watching as he wriggles and tries to get away from my hold. His fingers twitch against my shoulder as his legs jerk up, a moan slipping past his lips as his foot slides up my shin. The friction aggravates the monster within me and I hear myself snarl, my fingers tightening their hold around his still hard flesh. He nearly cries out and his legs jerk again, muffled pleas falling from his lips as I drag him down to my level again. He pants, and it aggravates me, my hands moving on their own, and then he's already shoved around to his stomach.

He shakes his head and manages to get on all fours before I catch him again, my anger still not satisfied as I pull him against me, hunching over his smaller body as my hand snakes over his side to his front. I fist him harshly and he muffles a cry, his hands grasping at the sheets as he makes an involuntary jerk back against me.

He climaxes too fast and it disgusts me, my hold on him loosening and letting go so fast he sags down in a messy mass of clothes and pants. I lean back, the scalding anger still poisoning me and making my heart beat hard against my chest as I look down to him. He's gasping, looking dazed and utterly mortified at the same time as he tries to piece himself together.

He looks too debauched, lying there with his shirt thrown up to his chest in numerous wrinkles and jeans somewhere around his knees, that I can's stand to look at him. I back away and he looks at me, his face sweaty and red. It looks like he's trying to say something and I can see a single tear running down his cheek. Shame bangs over me before it gets engulfed by the anger again and I take a step back, my fists clenching. It disgusts me to feel the slicky warmth of his release staining my entire hand.

"Stay away from me," I growl and like how it sounds, convincing and threatening enough before I turn and flee once again, my head feeling too clear. The door to my room bangs close at my wake and I consciously block it all from my mind as I once again run down the stairs and into the rainy night.

This time, no amount of booze or sex will be able to eradicate the burn of my feelings. I know it, and that is why the wet darkness gets a beast to accompany it.

Dogs never feel guilty.

* * *

**A.N: **Comment. I know you want to.


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